


where the love light gleams

by wheredwellthe_brave_atheart



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Christmas fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheredwellthe_brave_atheart/pseuds/wheredwellthe_brave_atheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas Eve 1944 - Edmund remembers and looks ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where the love light gleams

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Chronicles of Narnia world, created by C.S.Lewis. I do not claim ownership over the word or any characters used. I am not profiting in any way from this work, it is my own invention and for entertainment only, and it is not purported to be a part of C.S. Lewis’s official story line.
> 
> Title from the 1943 song "I'll Be Home For Christmas", written by Kim Gannon, Walter Kent, and Buck Ram, originally recorded by Bing Crosby. 
> 
> Some minor violence from the BAMF Edmund, but plenty of Christmas cheer. Hope everyone has a wonderful holiday!

The streetlamp he was smoking under flickered persistently, casting filmy shadows along the mottled cobblestones. The rust-orange of the cigarette's embers bloomed like a fiery flower in the grey, illuminating the tips of his fingers.

Edmund sighed and checked his watch. He knew he ought to have been home sooner, to help get ready for the next day's events, but he found himself horribly reluctant to celebrate anything. It had been a bad few weeks, with the new term coming to a close, and the tightened rations that meant their Christmas was likely to be a stingy one anyway. But most of all, the season conjured beautiful memories that burned behind his eyes - of the Cair festooned with the greenest plants and the brightest ornaments, of extravagant feasts with dancing and merry music, and of friends surrounding them who were now lost forever.

Edmund snorted as he recalled one Christmas, about five years ago, when Peter had imbued far too much mulled mead and had woken to discover he had enlisted the help of several dwarves to wrap tinsel entirely around his weapons, so that they had to spend the morning unwinding glittering wreaths from the pommels of swords and the lengths of axes.

It was painful - he was allowed to acknowledge this - to recall so easily the lost years. And it didn't help that he had 'returned' a changed man - well, boy- and that his old school gang, of whose torments he had almost entirely forgotten in the fifteen years that passed, were still intent on discovering the catalyst behind his transformation. They had been back for one year, seven months, and eight days, and still he was not allowed to live in peace.

He hummed a few bars of "I'll Be Home For Christmas" as he stubbed out his cigarette on the pavement, shoving his cold hands in the pockets of his coat and making off for their Finchley address. Apparently he was displaying his more masochistic side tonight, musically-speaking.

No sooner had he gone three blocks than Edmund cursed under his breath and paused in his tracks. "Speak of the devils..." he muttered, eyeing the crowd of older boys loping down the street, heading towards him. These were some of the ones who were determined to ruffle the strange Pevensies, who couldn't accept the truth of what their senses provided. Normally Peter and he encountered them together, or with their sisters, but now Edmund was vulnerable to their attentions, exposed as he was in his long black coat in the hazy glow of the Christmas lights and streetlamps lining the road.

He kept walking, a measured pace that carried him across the street from the group.

'Don't draw attention to yourself,' the instincts born from years of battle experience whispered. 'Be controlled and calm, or the hunters will better smell the prey.'

Too late. The foremost of the gang cocked his head and pointed, making a loud remark to his equally obnoxious comrades. Edmund stood his ground and turned to face them, the wind nipping at his exposed features.

"Oi, Pevensie," the one he thought was called Jim Galingher yelled. "Shouldn't you be somewhere else? You know, somewhere you won't bother us with your fecking poetry or your shite books?"

The cluster emitted a chorus of ugly laughter, and Edmund clenched his jaw with the effort it took not to roll his eyes. Honestly, these idiots thought this was repartee? Ridiculous.

"I was just on my way," he managed to call back, but the group crossed the street to where he was positioned.

'Don't let them get behind you,' his training taught him, but this was proving to be problematic when there were at least eight blokes against a lone boy with no weapons or cavalry or friends to fight at his side.

"You know, Pevensie, we've talked it over, and we're tired of your prissy and polite act, all right?" the one called Galingher said, grinning wolfishly. "We think the war's made you soft." The boy spat at his feet, and two others grabbed him by the collar on either sides.

And then-

WHAM! Edmund's knees were kicked in by one of the boys standing to his left, and everything focused.

He landed on his left knee and spun out his right leg to trip the ankles of three adversaries, pushing himself up in the same motion and bringing an elbow back to smash in the nose of one behind him. He swung the same arm into the jaw of someone on his right, but the sideways motion left his face exposed for a second and he was cut across the face. He didn't pause, driving his knee into the soft flesh of the tallest boy, winding him, and using his momentum to flip him over his locked arm to have him land sprawling on the pavement. He felt another hit crunch into his eye as he pinched the nerve of the smallest boy, and was facing a lone standing Jim Galingher after about a minute had passed. He didn't falter, but spat "I've warned you before," then punched him square in the face, effectively cutting of the boy's feeble protestations of 'What? I don't- what the hell- who?'

When his vision relaxed and he was operating at normal speed again, Edmund wiped at the blood on the back of his hand and shook his head, testing the pain. "Just don't. Don't push me again," he threatened, stepping out of this ring to allow his tired feet to carry him the last few blocks home.

...

Edmund climbed wearily up the front steps of the house, feeling the first stings of emerging pain as the adrenaline began to wane. He took a deep breath and turned the brass doorknob, stepping inside to the warmth and light that greeted him.

"Is that you, Ed?" Lucy's bright voice called from the sitting room. "We were just saying that you're awfully late for someone who just went out for a smoke and promised to be home before supper-" Lucy's lighthearted teasing was cut off when she rounded the corner into the front hallway, and caught sight of his mangled appearance. Her hands flew to her mouth in shock for just a moment, before she recovered enough to ask, "By the Lion- Oh, Edmund, whatever happened?"

"Got jumped," he confessed bitterly, allowing her to inspect his face a bit closer, as Susan rushed in from the other room as well. She did not speak; he met her gaze steadily and saw the worry that shone in her familiar eyes.

Lucy pursed her lips as she took note of his injuries. "Well, we'll just have to clean you up before Mother sees," she sighed, as they helped him out of his coat and boots.

"I reckon there's not much I can do to keep this from her," Edmund replied, wincing as his younger sister's gentle fingers probed his jaw.

"Oh, well, sit, please, Ed," Lucy tutted anxiously, ushering him into the chair opposite Susan by the fire before she hurried through the kitchen door to fetch medical supplies.

The warmth of the fire soothed his icy hands, but bit at his aching face. He sank a little into the armchair, releasing the composure he'd managed to hold onto all the way back.

He could feel Susan's eyes remain on him as she sat back down as well. He glanced over to see her gazing at him thoughtfully, an intent expression settled on her delicate features.

"I'm really not in the mood for a lecture, Su," he said warily, noting the way she was holding her bottom lip between her teeth, one of her few tells in times of worry.

"No," Susan said carefully. "And I'm not really in the mood to deliver one." She paused, seeming to consider her words. "I just - you just looked so tired, for a moment. And ... I realized that it's been a very long time since I've thought of you as my little brother." She leaned forward, placing the back of her hand against his temple and brushing his hair softly away from his face. He twitched a little, but didn't flinch away from her touch.

She sighed, and her voice was little more than a whisper. "You're so brave, Ed."

He snorted, and she dropped her hand into her lap. "I haven't exactly displayed admirable control skills this evening."

Susan rolled her eyes, a talent they happened to share. "One evening out of one hundred." She shook her head. "Peter would've reacted just the same, only sooner. I would've come home in a rage and taken it out on all of you. I have done so before. And Lucy-" She laughed, bringing a hand to cover her mouth. "Lucy wouldn't have let them start, I suppose."

"Lucy the Lioness," he chuckled, and then sobered as Susan spoke again.

"You've always been the most capable of calm," she said. "It meant something, when you fought. It was important to you." She smiled fondly. "I remember you, with Rabadash - when a good man goes to war, it's..." she trailed off, sighing. "Well. You couldn't have expected anything different now."

"We all have ways to cope, I suppose," he said with a shrug, then hissed at the movement's effect on his shoulder, massaging it with his good hand. "I just- this one I - I had to."

"Yes," Susan said, going pensive again. "I just wish there had never been a need to."

Lucy re-appeared through the kitchen door, swinging it wildly in her haste, and bearing an armful of anti-septic bottles, cubes of ice, and bandages.

"What's the worst, Ed?" She inquired, laying out her tools on the carpet in front of his feet. "Your lip's cut, and under your eye, along your cheek. And you'll probably have a black eye for Christmas."

"Well, Happy Christmas to me," Edmund smiled. "Just what I wanted."

Lucy gave him a withering look and prepared a cloth to clean his cuts. "Well, it's not like you haven't had much worse before," she reasoned, gently dabbing at his split lip.

"He's lost all the old scars, his body isn't adapted to this kind of pain anymore," Susan teased, coming around to kneel at the other side of his chair.

"Hello?" A loud voice called from the front door, letting in a blast of cold air along with it. "The grocer was all out of parsley, Mother, but I think this is everything else you needed for Christmas dinner!"

The clunk of Peter's heavy winter boots moved closer to the room, and their brother rounded the corner, pink-cheeked and merry, hefting three paper bags from the grocer's.

Peter's cheer slid off his face as he took in the sight of his sisters patching up his bruised and bloody younger brother. He placed the bags on the floor and pulled off his gloves, striding over into the sitting room.

"What happened?" he asked calmly, searching Edmund's face for an answer.

Edmund could not fully express why he was so grateful that his brother did not ask if he was alright - perhaps it was because he didn't want someone else fussing over him, or because he didn't want to worry Peter overtly. Or perhaps it was because this was more proof that none of them, in fact, were 'alright' at all.

In any case, he preferred providing an account of the nights events knowing that Peter understood.

"It was that bloke Galingher's group again. Third time this month. Tonight they tried to attack. Started mouthing off from 100 metres, so I told 'em I was leaving."

Peter whistled low and ran a hand through his snow-covered hair. "Bet that went over well," he said darkly.

He smirked a little, ignoring his bleeding mouth. "They didn't care for it, no. Decided it would be a good idea to shove me from behind. Went for the knees." He swallowed thickly, remembering the way his hard-won talent at hand-to-hand combat had taken over. "It was over in a minute. Didn't know what hit 'em."

The eldest Pevensie grimaced empathetically and shook off his greatcoat. "Ed, I..." he trailed off, uncertain, and walked over to the front closet to hang his coat and remove his scarf, unwinding it snake-like from his throat.

"Er, yeah," he nodded, sighing. "Haven't really snapped like that since we've been back. Thought I wasn't going to, to be honest," he admitted, remembering how Peter had been in the year before their second time back. How he had been able to control most of that, himself.

"Well," Peter said, clapping him on the good shoulder, "I'm sure they'll think twice now before trying anything like that again."  
...

Their mother was anxious by the time she caught sight of him, but he had cleaned up enough so that his appearance had less of an impact on her than on the others. He changed from his dirty clothes into a crisp shirt and slacks for Christmas Eve dinner. He was buttoning up his sleeves when Peter entered their room, searching for a tie.

"Remember the year Lucy insisted we all wear velvet robes for the Christmas feast?" his brother asked, flipping his collar up. "Because she had read that King David of Archenland had done so in his first year of reign, and-" here Peter paused to let out a laugh, "And d'you remember the look on Susan's face when we all stood next to each other in those great massive cloths-" he subsided into a fit of laughter, sitting down on the bed with his hands in his knees.

"At least you were tall enough that yours didn't trip you every time you took a step," Edmund remembered ruefully. "I hadn't hit my growth spurt yet, I looked like a swaddled infant."

Peter shook his head cheerfully. "Ah, but yours was a respectable blue instead of the purple monstrosity I sported." He smiled, calming. "We had some grand Christmases."

"And some not-so-grand," Edmund reminded. "Ettinsmoor stronghold, November through January, 1012."

Peter closed his eyes. "Yes," he admitted. "We did make it through, though. With a lot of help and a great deal of spirit."

"No to mention the spirits," Edmund smirked, recalling the copious amounts of spiced rum they passed around to the troops on that Christmas Eve.

Peter laughed heartily, and left to ask Susan to fix his tie.

...

Their meal the night before Christmas was a modest one, as they saved the goose for the next day. But candles glowed on their dining table, and Edmund felt more peaceful than he had in weeks.

Their father's absence was difficult, but to he and his siblings it was something they had endured for fifteen years already. Their mother felt keenly the pain of her husband's separation, but her children were sadly used to it.

Lucy clinked her fork enthusiastically against her glass, deferring to their mother to make the first toast.

"To my children," their mother toasted, with a warm smile as she gazed at each of them. "You are my greatest joy."

"To our parents," Peter raised his own glass high. "May father return to us soon."

"To missing friends," Lucy said solemnly, and Edmund took a moment to remember all those lost to him.

"To hope for the future," Susan called out in a silvery voice, and Lucy kissed her on the cheek.

The past had been filled with many wonderful people, important experiences, and bright memories, but Edmund knew there would, in fact, be many more to come on this path.

"To peace and goodwill," Edmund said truthfully. "Merry Christmas, everyone."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are much appreciated. I wish everyone who celebrates it a Merry Christmas, and I hope everyone else has a fantastic holiday as well :)


End file.
